Drunken Lament
by shadowfire125
Summary: Killian and Gold start off trying to kill each other, and end up drunk on the deck of the Jolly Roger.


_I finished writing this before Cricket Game aired, and wanted to get this posted before the actual showdown between Killian and Gold. _

* * *

Mr. Gold was busy packing away the alchemy set Regina had arranged in the back of his shop when an icy chill tingled down his spine. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

He left the job half-finished and stepped out into the street, his intuition drawing him towards the harbor. Rounding the corner, he saw it and stopped dead in his tracks.

The _Jolly Roger_. Parked, for all intents and purposes, right on his front doorstep. A little voice in the back of his mind cried _How?_ but was quickly overwhelmed by blind rage. He stormed across the docks, forgetting his bum leg in his anger and strode up the plank.

Sure enough, leaning casually against the mast, was Killian Jones. Gold had thought him long dead until he discovered Smee in Storybrooke. It had surprised him to find the sniveling wretch still alive, and presumed that the captain had followed suit. But that knowledge still hadn't prepared him for the cold shock that flooded through him at the sight of the hated pirate, driving home the reality of the situation.

"Well," Killian said with a smirk, pushing away from the mast. "I thought you might come find me. Saves me the trouble of turning this little town upside-down looking for you."

Gold stepped down onto the deck, fixing a calm façade over his boiling fury. "What _are_ you doing here, dearie?" he asked, quiet danger running under the words.

Killian polished an imaginary smudge off his hook. "What do you think I'm doing? I _did_ promise I'd find a way to kill you. You're quite mortal here, _dearie_."

Gold's grip on his cane tightened. "That may be so," he said icily, "but I'm no less difficult to defeat."

"I do notice you're back to depending on a walking stick." Killian advanced on the pawnbroker. "What magic are you going to hide behind this time?"

Gold didn't even think about it before he whipped his cane around, cracking the pirate across the face. Killian stumbled back, pressing his hand to his nose. His fingers came away bloody. He twisted his mouth into a feral grin. "So the cripple _does_ have fight in him."

Gold lunged for him again, barely mindful of his leg, thrusting out his hand. An invisible force flung Killian away, and he only just managed to land on his feet. He drew his sword and charged Gold, who parried with his cane but faltered when he put too much weight on his leg. Killian seized the opportunity and swung around, the blade whistling through the air. Gold threw his hand out and the sword rebounded, flying from Killian's grasp. The pawnbroker's knee gave out, and he tumbled to the deck. Killian didn't even bother trying to retrieve his sword and just dove at Gold, grasping the smaller man's lapel in his hand and bringing his hook down in a vicious arc. Gold grabbed Killian's wrist with a surprisingly strong grip in time to stop the hook's descent inches from his face.

"You're certainly good at holding a grudge," Gold hissed.

"You're one to talk," Killian spat.

Gold let out a wheezing laugh, the pressure on his chest making it harder to breathe. "Look at us," he rasped, and his chuckle might have reached the Dark One's giggle if he had more air in his lungs. "How long has it been?"

Killian paused, narrowing his eyes. The old man had finally lost it, if he'd ever had it to begin with. "What are you on about?"

"Three hundred years," Gold said, struggling to take a breath. "Did you know that? Where've you been?"

"Doesn't concern you," Killian snarled.

Gold laughed again. "Neverland, I'll bet. I can smell it on you. Shoulda thought of that." He puffed his chest and finally got a decent breath. "Three hundred years."

Killian moved his hand to Gold's throat and squeezed. The pawnbroker clawed at the pirate, trying to push him away, but didn't have the energy to do that and keep the hook at bay. "Do you remember what she looked like?" he managed to gasp.

Killian's lips curled back over his teeth, and he tightened his grip, digging his nails in.

Gold's voice was barely audible, a scratchy whisper. "I don't."

Killian froze. Unintentionally, his grip loosened a little. Gold sucked in a breath and gave a bitter smile that remained stuck to his face even when Killian's fingers closed in again. "Dark hair," he hissed. "Blue eyes. I remember."

Gold's laugh was almost a whistle of air. "The shape of her face? Her smile? Her scowl?" He took a rattling breath. "I don't mind forgetting. But you loved her. You should-" He cut off with a strangled gurgle.

"What do you know about love?" Killian snarled.

Gold's face twisted in an acidic laugh, but no sound came out and he clawed at Killian's wrist. Killian relaxed his grip just enough to let the smaller man speak. "Like I'd tell you," Gold rasped, and suddenly drew in a deep breath and blew it out as hard as he could. It hit Killian in the face like a windstorm, knocking him backwards. Gold scrambled for his cane, but didn't make it before Killian tackled him. Magic forgotten, Gold rounded on him and fought tooth and nail, unmindful of his burning lungs and screaming leg. At one point Killian's hook carved a gouge in Gold's arm, and Gold finished the job his cane had started on Killian's nose, but neither of them were registering pain and weren't bothering with any kind of fighting styles. They were past that. Three centuries of pent-up hate sang in their bones and roared in their ears. They staggered away from each other, bloody and bruised, and then swung back in again, clashing and parting, clashing and parting. Slowly, their movements were becoming unsteady and sluggish. Punches missed, and the ones that landed were weak. Gold was the first to collapse, his leg folding under him as the adrenaline drained away. Killian hit the deck shortly after.

"Fuck," Gold wheezed, "you."

"No thanks," Killian wheezed back.

They lay there, bleeding onto the wood and gasping for air as the ship rocked gently at its mooring beneath them.

After a while, Gold said, "I need a drink."

Killian grunted in agreement.

"You're a pirate," Gold said. "You've got to have a stash of alcohol around here somewhere."

With a heavy groan, Killian grabbed Gold's cane and used it to push himself to his feet. He helped the pawnbroker up and shoved the cane into its owner's arms so hard Gold nearly fell over again. Together, they staggered below decks, shoving half-heartedly at each other if they stumbled too close. Killian fumbled with the keys, pausing to wipe at the blood trickling into his eyes from a scrape on his forehead, and finally managed to open the door to the storage room. There were stacks of crates full of rum, and Killian and Gold managed to pry one of them open. "Let's take this back up top," Gold coughed. "It stinks in here."

"Say that again, asshole," Killian said, but the threat was tired.

"It stinks in here."

Killian lurched for him, but tripped over the crate between them and face-planted into Gold's chest, and they both toppled into the stack behind Gold. There was the sound of glass shattering inside the boxes as the stack fell over, and alcohol began to drip from the crates.

"Look what you did," Killian said, and Gold shoved the pirate away. They began to lug their chosen crate back up the stairs, squabbling over the incident. At last Gold grabbed a bottle from the crate and threw it at Killian with unnecessary force. "Just shut up and open the damn bottle," he snapped.

Still grumbling under his breath about wasted alcohol and insolent cripples, Killian uncorked the bottle of rum and took a swig. He opened another and pushed it at Gold, who plopped onto the deck with his back against the mast. Killian sat down next to him, and they clinked the bottles together before tipping them back.

Killian was the equivalent of three shots into the bottle when he said, "I don't remember."

Gold made a smug sound.

"Shut up, you bastard," Killian sort-of-snarled. "How come you don't care about remembering?"

Gold made a vague gesture with his bottle. He'd drunk about as much as the pirate had. "Realized I'd never loved her. Used to think I did."

Killian eyed him, curious despite himself. "What changed your mind?"

Gold examined the bottle, then took another mouthful of rum. "Found the real thing."

Killian considered asking about the girl in Regina's tower, but before he could make a decision, Gold added, "She's not worth it, you know. Milah."

Killian bristled. "I beg to differ."

Gold snorted. "Of course, of course. Twue wuv. Course."

"Just because you're a bitter old man doesn't mean we all are," Killian retorted, taking another drink.

"Oh, dearie, you're a bitter old man, too." Gold sniggered into his bottle. "Bitter and old 'cause I killed the woman who ran off with a pirate to find adventure and left her son to be raised by a crippled coward." He gripped his bottle so tightly his knuckles turned white. "She didn't even ask about Bae," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "She didn't even ask."

Killian shifted, the raw pain in the other man's voice making him uncomfortable. "What…" He paused, decided he wasn't drunk enough, and took a few more gulps. When he was done, he asked, "What happened to the kid?"

Fury sparked in Gold's eyes, and he growled, "None of your damned business." Then, quickly as the swell of rage had come, it was gone, and he was just a skinny old man with a tattered suit and a bad leg, doing his best to make it to the bottom of a bottle of rum.

They drank in silence for a little while longer. Again, it was Gold who broke it first. "What did you see in her?" he asked, his words blurry around the edges.

Killian hummed into the bottle. "She was pretty," he said. "I liked her laugh. We shared a thirst for adventure." He lifted the bottle and eyed the contents. It was almost half empty. Full. Whatever.

"She never laughed for me," Gold muttered sullenly, and stuck his tongue into the bottle.

Killian regarded his own bottle glumly. "Why did you have to kill her?"

"Anger management issues," Gold said, beginning to list to the side. "S'cost me a lot in life." He realized he was about to fall over and straightened up.

Killian sloshed his rum around. "Do you regret it?"

"No," Gold said. "Yes," he corrected himself almost immediately. "In retrospect, it was a bit of an over-reactun. Reaction."

"Ri'," Killian said. "A bit."

"What," Gold said, looking offended in a way that only drunks can pull off. "You never killed someone wifout thinkin' about it just 'cause you were mad?"

Killian blinked a few times. "I guess you got a point there." Then he shook himself. "Tha's not an excuse!"

"Yes it is," Gold replied churlishly.

"It's not!"

"It is!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Killian dropped his bottle and lunged at Gold. He tried to hit the pawnbroker in the face, but hit his chest instead. Gold flailed at him and they both slid sideways. Killian tried to drag Gold to his feet so he could hit the bastard properly, but between the alcohol, the exhaustion from their previous fight, and prior injury, Gold couldn't get his legs underneath himself and ended flopping like a dying fish in Killian's grasp, making futile attempts at trying to injure the pirate. Killian wasn't much steadier on his feet, so he couldn't remain upright for very long, and both of them crumpled back onto the deck.

Gold felt he might be sick. The mild swaying of the ship felt like a hellish carnival ride. He tried to roll onto his side, but couldn't manage it and fell back. When the nausea faded some, he spoke again, his Scottish accent running rampant. "I've still got your hand."

Killian flopped his head over to stare blankly at him. "You…" The words sank in. "You _what_?"

"S'in a box," Gold said. "In the back a me shop."

Killian looked back up at the cloudy sky beyond the sails. "I honestly don't know how to respond to that."

Gold made a vague sound of accord.

"I want it back," Killian decided.

* * *

Emma groaned as she plopped down behind her desk at the sheriff's station. What a day. They'd all been so worked up about Cora's arrival, all set for a big battle, and what happens? Regina and her mother end up at the only bar in town besides Granny's, getting absolutely sloshed. When Emma had gone to check up on them, she'd found them crying into each other's arms, surrounded by empty shot glasses.

She began to run a hand through her hair, and then froze. Where was Gold? He was the person most anxious about Cora besides Regina, but no one had seen him. Biting her lip, she mulled over her options. On one hand, it was a relief to not have to deal with him, but on the other… well, who knew what he was up to? If it meant missing out on a potential showdown with Cora, it was probably important. And if Gold thought something was important, then Emma thought it was important.

With a sigh, she snatched up her car keys and left the office. The drive to the pawnshop was short, and she wasn't surprised when she parked out front that the sign on the front door was flipped to 'Closed.' She let herself in anyway. Gold never seemed to lock the door when he was in, even if the shop was supposedly closed. For all he complained about everyone ignoring the sign, he didn't do much else to keep people out.

The front of the shop was dark, but the light in the back was on and she could hear clattering and muffled swearing.

"Could've sworn it was here somewhere," came Gold's brogue, thick and slurred.

Something crashed.

"Watch where ye put yer dirty mitts!" the pawnbroker snapped.

"Well, it's not my bloody fault this place is a rat's nest!" retorted an unfortunately familiar voice. Oh. Oh, no.

Emma pushed aside the curtain and peered into the back of the shop. The place was an absolute mess. The table was overturned, drawers were hanging open, cupboards had been gutted. Ordinarily, the shop looked cluttered, but there always seemed to be some underlying order that Gold navigated with precision. This… this looked like a couple of drunks had run riot through it looking for something.

Which was, apparently, exactly what had happened.

Gold was waving a brass telescope at Killian in what was supposedly a threatening manner, but Killian was just fascinated by the object and attempted to snatch it away. Gold yanked it out of reach just in time, and thumped Killian on the chest with the handle of his cane. "Yer only gettin' one thing out of this shop, dearie."

"Two bottles," Killian said, and Gold narrowed his eyes at him.

"Three," Gold said.

"Done," Killian replied, grasping for the telescope. "Gimme."

Gold reluctantly handed it over and Killian tucked it into his belt, looking incredibly satisfied with himself.

Emma rubbed at her temples. "Not you guys, too," she complained.

Immediately the two men snapped their heads around to look at her. "Miss Swan," Gold said, but the smooth way he usually addressed her was slaughtered by how awfully drunk he obviously was.

"Emma!" Killian said with a grin, spreading his arms wide. "Give us a kiss, love."

Oh god, of course he was a handsy drunk. Emma ducked his clumsy attempt at a hug and put the upended table between her and him. "What the hell are you two up to?"

Killian pointed his hook at Gold. "Rumpelshilt- Rumpsticks- This git says he's still got my hand."

Emma had thought that nothing could surprise her anymore, and she was disappointed to discover she was right. This did not mean she couldn't be revolted. "That is so wrong," she said.

"I like souvenirs," Gold said as haughtily as he could for someone who looked like he'd gotten the snot beat out of him and then been run over by a bottle of cheap alcohol. Killian was in a similar condition, but somehow wore it better.

Killian rounded on the ex-sorcerer in a flash. "It's a _hand_, not a bloody souvenir, you little-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Emma held up her hands. "Look, why don't you two come with me? You can continue your scavenger hunt when you aren't three sheets to the wind."

Killian went right back to charm, and sidled up to Emma. "I'd _love_ to come with you." He tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but she elbowed him in the ribs and his face went white.

"Ouch," he wheezed.

She eyed him. "Hospital or sheriff's station?"

He puffed up his chest. "You'll never take me alive, copper."

"Sheriff's station," she decided. "Come on. You too, Gold."

"I'll be quite alright here, lass," Gold replied, but he was swaying unsteadily.

"Like hell," Emma said. It was like herding cats, but eventually she wrangled the pair into the patrol car. The ride back to the station was longer than the ride to the pawnshop because more than once she had to pull the car over and yell at them to stop hitting each other and harassing each other and generally being five years old. Getting them out of the car and into separate cells was fortunately easier, but she had to lock them in because Killian kept wandering out and trying to get up close and personal with Emma. He continued hitting on her from the cell until Gold lurched over to Killian's cell and started calling him names, which the pirate returned with gusto.

Emma pulled her nightstick out of a drawer in her desk and strode over, banging the stick on the bars. "Hey!" she shouted. "If you two don't cool it, I swear to god I will tase both of you."

Something in her tone must have reached them, because they both skulked back to their respective bunks. Gold was the first to pass out, and Killian was a close second.

Emma sunk back into her chair and dropped her forehead to the desk. Not for the first time, and _certainly_ not for the last, she wondered what the hell she'd done to deserve this destiny.


End file.
